


for all the sparks that i stomped out

by lowtides



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Friends to Enemies, Gender-Neutral Deputy - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Pining, Self-Harm, Unrequited Love, major character death implied, pre-game, self-harm of carving sins y'know ~just john seed things~, sort of i mean this follows events of the game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-19 02:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16525676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowtides/pseuds/lowtides
Summary: John has always been impulsive, but falling for Nick and Kim Rye might be the most self-destructive thing he's ever done.





	for all the sparks that i stomped out

**Author's Note:**

> _*puts my grubby little hands all over far cry 5 lore*_ MY canon now, ubisoft
> 
> title song: [i'll be good](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=POqEVwROEQs) by jaymes young
> 
> and also trigger warning for two scenes with a bit of self-harm

Hope County is a small, forgettable dot on the map. Podunk nowhere, populated by nobody but farmers and survivalist loners, and somehow John finds himself _moving_ there. Of course, it’s what Joseph wanted, and what Joseph wants Joseph gets, because John owes him that much. The _family_ owes Joseph that much.

The county’s beautiful—really, it is, but it’s just not John’s _scene_. He’s grateful to have found his brothers again, really, grateful that the world has given them all this second chance. But the things he’s had to give up—it strains him when all he’s ever really known is a life of materialism. The change of scenery will be good for him though, he knows it will, Joseph said so himself. He’ll just have to _adjust_.

Nobody, not even Joseph, can stop him from buying the ranch, however. Screw the disapproval he’ll get for this, it’s _modest_ compared to the luxuries John’s used to. The family needs to settle in Hope County, and by God, John will _settle_.

His brothers can argue with him all they want about how the roof over their heads doesn’t have to be a roof made of gold, but John argues for a fucking living. He’s _getting_ the ranch.

An airstrip wouldn’t hurt, either. He’ll have that and a plane to complete it, of course, much like his neighbors east of the ranch.

The Ryes seem like good people—newlyweds still, judging by how their level of PDA is like they’ve _just_ gotten out of the honeymoon stage. John’s first meeting with them could have been… better.

That Nick Rye didn’t seem too happy to meet him, nor did Kim Rye, but she seemed to hide her apprehension better than her husband. It was all fake smiles and stiff handshakes when John and Faith knocked on their door for a warm welcome to the valley.

Faith had made brownies, and offering up the platter seemed to leech the tension from both Ryes.

“What brings y’to Holland Valley?” Nick asks, not unkindly but not quite friendly either.

“Our family’s project is interested in the land—”

“I ain’t asking that,” Nick interrupts, his hand latching onto the doorframe as if to bar John and Faith from gaining ground further than the front porch. “We’ve heard all about you Seeds already, buying up the land, convincing good folk to sell you their _homes_ —”

“Nick,” Kim warns, a nervousness flashing behind her smile as she elbows her husband in the side.

Nick glances down at Kim, then meets John’s eyes with a smile. “Just curious.”

John is familiar with this, this dance where people don’t really want to know each other but feel obligated to keep the bridge unburnt. He smiles wide, wider than Nick’s smile, and clasps his hands together. “It wasn't my choice to move to Hope County. Though, I chose the valley for our home because I like the open air. Surely, you’d understand that, from one pilot to another.”

Nick’s face shutters for a moment. “You fly?”

“I don’t know if you’ve seen, but there _is_ an airstrip on my property.”

There’s a small silence. Perhaps Nick reevaluating his new neighbor. They’re different, so different that that’s probably where Nick’s abrasion towards him roots from, but suddenly there’s something they have in common.

Kim breaks the silence, gesturing slightly with the plate of brownies Faith had handed to her. “Would you two like to come in? We could continue this conversation around a table,” she smiles, genuine, “maybe with some brownies.”

Next to John, Faith stirs, obviously excited by the proposal. “That sounds lovely.”

“No, thank you,” John says, his smile twitching. Faith visibly deflates in his peripheral. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome. Be seeing you, neighbors. Have a pleasant day.”

Kim looks at them disappointedly, and Nick, jaw set, gently pulls her back into the house and shuts the door. Before John and Faith are fully off the porch, they both hear Nick inside the house, a low and incredulous _‘from one pilot to another’ who the hell does that guy think he is!_

“I like them,” Faith grins.

John narrows his eyes at her, and her grin falters for a moment. Fear and uncertainty slip underneath. He forgets that despite how quickly he and Rachel— _Faith_ —have hit it off, she’s still very much new, wary of overstepping. She was one of the reasons they moved to the county, her potential along with the potential of her family’s connections. He gets along with her better than he ever did with the past two Faiths, so hopefully she sticks around.

John sighs, his hand braceleting around her arm to squeeze assuringly before they move for the car. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to like them. You’re also allowed to be testy with me. That’s what sisters are for, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “I’m—I _was_ an only child.”

John smiles sadly at that. Despite the fact that he has brothers, all of them—John especially—have lived most of their lives without siblings. None of them _really_ know how to act. “Well, we’ll find out together then, won’t we?”

 

-

 

Three months fly by fast. Three months of barely seeing his neighbors, three months of building up the Project’s presence in Hope County.

The most John ever sees of Nick is his cropduster soaring in the sky, John makes sure he only ever flies when Nick is back on land. The last thing he needs is Nick Rye on his doorstep whining to him that he’s not only taking land but taking the _skies_ now too.

Kim is another story. John sees Kim here and there, mostly in passing when somehow, they’re both around Fall’s End at the same time. She’s civil, friendly even. Both of them are always coming up with excuses when they’re actually within speaking distance, bullshit like _oh, nice to see you neighbor, but i’ve got somewhere to be right now, so bye!_

Though it’s somewhat pleasant, despite the strain. Pleasant enough, that John thinks it’s time for a little push. He’s left them alone for far too long, poking and prodding at other landowners around the county instead. But it’s time. He knows the answer he’s going to get, but John looks at the expanse of land _Rye & Sons_ sits on and thinks of just how useful it could be. It’s worth a try.

John finds Kim in the _Rye & Sons_ hangar, going over some papers at the bar. She types away at a calculator, buttons clicking softly, while she nurses a drink in her other hand. The bell above the door rings, announcing his entrance.

“We’re not open,” she says loudly, not looking away from the papers scattered about. “If you’re looking for flying lessons you have to call to schedule an appointment.”

“Is this a bad time?”

“Oh!” Kim startles out of her seat, putting practically empty tumbler glass down on the counter. She swivels around to look at him, then tilts her head to the side, curious. “John Seed! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Is Nicholas around?” John asks, keeping up his genial smile. “I’ve come to see you both.”

“Oof, don’t call him _that_ when he’s around, he’s not gonna like that. And, well, he’s out right now,” Kim answers, pointing up. Not to the ceiling of the hangar, but _up_. “He should be finishing his rounds soon,” she squints at the wall clock and shrugs, “probably a coupl’a minutes. What can we do for you?”

“I’d prefer it if we wait until Nick comes back,” John flashes another patient smile, careful not to show too many teeth. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

“Right then,” she hums, brows furrowing in confusion—or perhaps it’s caution. She pats the bar top, a paperless and empty space next to her. “Wanna join me then? You like gin?”

He raises a brow, but strides over to the empty seat next to Kim. “It isn’t even noon.”

“Sure, sure, but I’m going through bills right now, and if that doesn’t call for a drink then I don’t know what does.”

John finds himself genuinely amused at that, a low chuckle tumbling out of this lips. “Well, when you put it that way, I can’t say no to a drink.”

Kim barks out a laugh and slides the bottle and a spare glass over to him. It warms John, the drink and the interaction with Kim that isn’t just strained, neighborly decency.

They end up chatting in lively conversation, time flying by quickly instead of excruciatingly so. Kim forgets the calculator, the papers splayed out on the bar top as they both fall into easy chatter about the county, the locals, his family.

“Not to be rude or anything, really John, just tell me if I’m being an ass, but folks have heard things about your family.”

“Heard things,” John raises a brow, “or _said_ things?”

Kim smiles sheepishly. “I think a little bit of both. It’s hard to know what the truth is, but I was just wondering about some of the things I’ve heard.”

“Things like…”

She chews on her lip, hesitant. John’s eyes are drawn to it for a moment, then he quickly catches himself, choosing to look down at his drink. He reminds himself that not only is trying to leave _that_ life behind, but Kim Rye is happily married, she’s off-limits.

“Things like missing people.”

He feels his smile twitch. “Rumors. Nothing more. Some people don’t want to see my brother succeed.”

It’s the truth, as far as John knows. There have been several people for _and_ against the Project who have never been seen or heard from again. He knows he has had nothing to do with their disappearances, he knows Joseph doesn’t either.

As for the missing people who have tried to go against them, well, John really _doesn’t_ know, but if he’s being honest, he wouldn’t put it past Jacob. What matters is that Jacob covers his tracks, if he were to do such a thing. If.

Kim holds his gaze for a moment, trying to get a read. Something must speak to her, because she relaxes slightly. The tension must have been concealed well, maybe it’s _always_ been there and that was the only way John had known Kim Rye, but now there’s an ease to her posture that he only thought was there before.

Distantly, the roar of an engine approaches. Nick likely touching down on the airstrip outside.

“That must be hard,” she hums, swishing her glass and watching what remains of the gin slosh around. Then her eyes flit up to him again, compassion softening her gaze. “It must be hard when you try to help people, but people just try to hurt your progress instead.”

A bitterness strikes him, not at Kim but at the people she speaks of. “Thank you for understanding.”

Tires screech outside the hangar and both of them turn to see Nick hopping out of his bright yellow plane, wiping some sweat off his brow. _Carmina_ , John presumes is the name of the plane, judging by the fact that the name is printed on the aircraft. _Beautiful plane_ , he thinks, far too bright for his liking but a beauty no less.

Nick starts towards the hangar with an easy swagger, the jacket tied around his waist swaying in the breeze. The swagger that John finds himself admiring comes to a halt right at the threshold of the hangar. He can’t make out Nick’s expression from this distance, and there’s also the fact that he’s wearing sunglasses, but John guesses his presence is what’s caused Nick Rye to falter.

Nick composes himself quickly, tearing off his sunglasses and making his way over to them with a steady gait.

“Hey,” he murmurs to Kim when he reaches them, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. Over Kim, he eyes John warily.

“Hey yourself,” she says softly, smiling.

Nick leans away from Kim’s head, but doesn’t leave her side. “John Seed.”

John nods in acknowledgment. “Nick Rye.”

“The hell are you doin’ here?” Nick asks. Despite the hostility of the words, he poses his question casually, not unkindly.

John sets his drink down and smooths down his vest. “I’m sure you’ve heard what my family’s been up to in Hope County, yes? Kim and I were just talking about that.”

“Yeah… you’re with the church or something?”

“Or something,” John says, flashing a smile, his business smile. “My brother Joseph has become a very important man, and he’s bringing in more birds to the Flock each day. We’d arrived at the county with a small following already, but we’ve expanded in three months. We’re still expanding, especially as our followers grow in numbers.”

Nick looks apprehensive, mouth set into a thin line. Next to him, Kim is frowning, her eyes darting around, thinking.

When neither of them says anything, John asks. “Have either of you met my brother Jacob?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Kim shakes her head, then throws a glance at Nick who shrugs. “Yeah, think I’ve only seen him in passing?”

“Big ass ginger guy, right?” Nick asks. “Army vet?”

“Precisely that,” John confirms with a nod. “He’s working on restoring the old veterans center up in the Whitetail Mountains.”

“You bought that place up?” Kim asks, looking at him warily.

“I did.”

“You’ve been buying a lot of shit, lately.” Nick crosses his arms, twiddling his sunglasses between two fingers. “A lot of land.”

“As I said, we _are_ expanding.” John pauses briefly, shifting on the barstool ever so slightly. He maintains eye contact with the couple in front of him, bringing one hand up to softly pat the bar top, slipping a business card onto it. “Which is what brings me here.”

Kim’s eyes go wide. She catches his gaze and shakes her head minutely, discreetly swiping her hand across her throat in an abortive gesture. _Stop_ , she mouths, eyes motioning at Nick.

“Are you saying what I think you're saying?” Nick asks carefully, voice suddenly an octave lower.

“I’d like to buy _Rye & Sons_. More specifically, the land.”

“Get out.”

It’s what John expected from Nick Rye, the man seems too proud to let go of his things, but he had to try. He shakes his head lightly, trying to play off Nick’s dismissal as a joke. “You haven’t even heard the numbers yet.”

“I knew it, I fuckin’ _knew_ that this is what you wanted from us. Knew it from the damn start! My family earned this land with their sweat and blood. I ain’t never gonna sell it, so you can fuck right off.”

John’s smile twitches. “Nick—”

_“Get. Out.”_

Kim springs up from her barstool to stand between Nick and John. She steps towards John with a frown, her eyes almost— _almost_ —apologetic as she pats John on the arm. “I’ll show you out.”

“Thank you, Kim, but there’s no need.” John gently shrugs her hand off and stands from his seat. He waltzes past Nick, whose face is practically red with anger, and reaches for the door. The bell chimes as he swings it open, casting one more look at Nick over his shoulder. “Beautiful plane you have there.”

Nick stammers slightly, a disgruntled noise escaping him. He finds words after a moment, hollering at John. “Get the hell off my property!”

John releases a breath when he’s a good distance from the hangar, walking to his car.

 

-

 

Two weeks later, John gets a call from Nick Rye himself. He’s at the ranch when he gets the call, lounging by the fireplace with a book in hand. Nick doesn’t introduce himself, but John would recognize that voice—that mess of octaves—anywhere.

_“Uh, this John Seed?”_

“Nick Rye,” John practically purrs into the receiver. Perhaps the man’s changed his mind, John is half-expecting it, he almost always wins people over. The Ryes just happen to be part of the small exception, it seems. “What can I do for you? Change your mind about my offer?”

He hears Nick grumble something under his breath, too warbled by connection of the call to be clear, but John thinks it sounds a little like _arrogant bastard_. Nick clears his throat. _“Look, Kim’s been on my ass about how things went the other day and,”_ he pauses briefly, and John wonders if his next words caused him actual physical pain, _“I guess I’m sorry.”_

John can’t help the grin that sharpens his face, oh how he wishes they were talking face to face. “Why Nick—”

_“You were still in the wrong. Let’s be clear about that. Still a goddamn dick move coming to my hangar and chattin’ up my wife before you—”_

“Kim and I were merely making small talk while we waited for you to land,” John says and he _means_ it. He had no interest in flirting with Kim, not when he knew it would just make Nick harder to convince when he got to his sales pitch.

But.

 _But_ , he has to admit that Kim was excellent company. He felt at ease sharing a drink and conversation with her, it definitely helped that Kim was easy on the eyes, Nick as well if he was being honest with himself. John usually preferred his men a little less... hick, but Nick— _why am I thinking about this?_

_“Whatever man, call it what you want but I ain’t forgivin’ you for trying to buy up my property. I’m just—I’m just apologizing for… for my reaction. Overreaction. You didn’t know my family history so it wasn’t—goddammit it wasn’t fair of me to go batshit on you, is all m’saying.”_

“Apology accepted. I think.”

_“You… think?”_

“It’s an… _odd_ apology, but I accept it. I won’t push for your land any longer, since you so clearly won’t give it up, no matter how much I offer.”

 _“Okay, good. That’s good. And—”_ Nick stops before he finishes his thought, so abruptly it has John pressing his phone closer to his ear.

“And?” He presses, curious.

Nick sighs on the other end, exasperated. _“We’re—look, okay, you don’t have to come but I’m inviting you anyway. Kim wants me to. I dunno. Shit, just, we have this end of summer barbeque every year. This Saturday. Potluck, open invite, the whole county comes to join… you ‘n’ your family can come along if y’all want to.”_

“We’d love to attend,” John hums into the receiver, thinking of how it would be a good way to get a scope of the town. They’ve been here three months already, but they’ve never been to anything that unites the county the way Nick is saying.

 _“... Great. I’ll let Kim know.”_ And with that Nick swiftly hangs up.

After that call, Saturday rolls by quickly. Just a couple of hours before they’re expected at the Ryes’, Joseph is making a mess over the stove.

“I hope you’re not destroying my kitchen, Joseph,” John drawls from the couch, skimming through messages on his phone. Reports from trusted members of the Flock, some emails, notifications from Tinder and Grindr. He hasn’t checked _those_ apps in eons, especially not since they moved to Hope County, but John always forgets to turn off notifications for them, swiping them away and forgetting they ever existed. “We could just buy something to bring.”

“Or we could just not go,” Jacob shrugs from the kitchen island, turning a page of his newspaper. “Don’t think folks want us to show up anyway. Why even bring something?”

Joseph drains the water from the pot, minding the macaroni as he looks sternly at Jacob. “It’s a potluck, Jacob. We must bring something, otherwise it’s rude. Pass me the milk and cheese mix, will you?”

Jacob doesn’t move from his seat, just pokes at the sides of the milk carton and a bowl, sliding them across the counter.

John is wary—no one in this family is really a cook, and the few times he’s eaten something Joseph has made since they reunited hasn’t been… decent. He reiterates what he said before. “Really, we _could_ just buy—”

“No, John, we can’t. I refuse. It has to be made with _love_.” Joseph then pours in _a lot_ of milk. _Perhaps that's a little too much love._

Faith comes down the stairs, joining them in the ranch’s common area. She wrinkles her nose. “Is something burning?”

Jacob snorts into his newspaper. John quietly points at Joseph slaving away in the kitchen. _The Father_ raises his wooden spoon, diluted sloshes of cheese spilling off with chunks of macaroni. He smiles, unaware of his abomination. “Would you like to try some, Faith?”

“Ah,” Faith averts her eyes, hands clasping behind her back. “I’m afraid I’m lactose intolerant.”

Joseph looks disappointed, but doesn’t push. He returns to his cooking, muttering _where is the tin foil?_ under his breath.

John catches Faith’s eyes, wicked blue snaring green, and smiles sharply as he mouths _lying is a sin_. She shrugs innocently at him, and John can tell she’s willing to take this falsity to the grave. He notes to somehow rub this in her face later.

The potluck starts off… awkward to say the least. People side-eye his family when they arrive, whispering and smiling uncomfortably. It gets better when Mary May arrives with _a lot_ of alcohol, enough for everyone and more.

Joseph and Faith wander, getting cozy with folks around town. John watches the eyes of some of the people they speak to, some of them lighting up at their words, and he knows they’re coming out of this potluck with potential additions to the Flock.

John does some mingling himself. He spent most of the first hour hovering around Jacob, keeping him company because he knows his brother will _not_ start conversation with anyone. It bored John to madness, sitting in silence while Jacob just took menacing sips from his beer, watching Joseph and Faith like a hawk. People generally steered clear of them, but when John finally thought his restlessness would eat him alive a man sits next to them, inquiring about the work Jacob’s been doing around the Whitetail Mountains. _Eli Palmer,_ he introduces himself with a small smile and an outstretched hand. Jacob remains gruff as ever, but once they fall into comfortable conversation about survival and other wilderness shit John has no interest in listening to, John decides Jacob is comfortable enough for him to leave his side.

It’s after a few drinks that John finds himself talking to Nick. _Conversing._ Without any hostility. Nick is _laughing_ , even. After a stilted first few seconds of greetings and half-assed apologies—along with Nick complaining about the monstrosity of mac and cheese Joseph brought into the world—they start talking about flying. The mutual love for the skies that they both share whisks them away despite the clash they had just two weeks ago, and despite the topic soaring high high high into the clouds, John thinks they’ve finally found even ground.

“Y’know what?” Nick claps him on the shoulder hours later as everyone’s packing away and leaving. “You’re not so bad, John. Not as big of an asshole as I thought you were.”

“And you’re not as big a fool I thought you were,” John grins back, feeling Nick’s hand tighten on his shoulder at the backhanded compliment.

“Play nice, boys,” Kim warns as she glides past them, holding one too many trays of leftover food.

Nick snickers and sends a lackluster glare at John. His hand leaves his shoulder and John discovers a small part of him wants that warmth back. Nick adjusts his hat and swivels around to follow after Kim, relieving her of some of the trays stacked up in her arms. He calls back to John as he follows Kim back to their house around the hangar. “We should go flying sometime! Whaddaya say to that, big city asshat? I’ll show you who the fuckin’ fool is.”

John barks out a laugh. The sound surprises him, an easy, shoulder-shaking laugh he hasn’t had in a long time.

Maybe Hope County isn’t as shitty as he thought.

 

-

 

Two months pass since the barbeque, and they’re not just good neighbors but _friends_. John ends up in the Ryes’ home more often than not. He spends three days a week flying with Nick, taunting each other and watching the colors of the sky change. Kim is always at the hangar when the two of them land, surrounding John with musical laughter and infectious smiles.

It’s when they’re all working in the hangars one day, that John finds a way to fuck this up for himself. It’s good, it’s all been going so _good_ that of course, he’s going to ruin it. It’s what he always does— _ruins_.

Nick and John stand by their respective planes, John tweaking small issues with _Affirmation’s_ propellers while Nick continuously works on that left wing. If Nick would just _let_ John take a look at it like he keeps offering to help, then maybe a more permanent solution for that left wing would arise. But _nah, man, only a Rye takes care of Carmina._

Kim’s stretched out on the couch by the wall, a couple beers on the floor next to her, engrossed in a self-help book for upstart business owners. Not that _Rye & Sons_ is in trouble, she just wants to make things the best she can. John hears from Nick about five times a week how he’d be lost without her.

“Pass me a beer, Kim?” Nick calls out, tucked underneath his plane.

“Say please,” she drawls from the couch, not looking up from her book.

“Pretty please?”

“Hm, how about you just come and get it yourself, Nick,” she suggests with a hum, mischief etched on her face.

Nick rolls out from underneath the plane, a pout pulling at his face. His eyes flick over to John for a millisecond, pouting even more at the look of amusement on his face. He stands with a grunt and wipes the grease on his palms onto his shirt. Kim waits for him at the couch, her book lowered on her lap and a sweating bottle dangling in her other hand. Nick reaches for it and Kim pulls it away with a grin. “A kiss first.”

Nick chuckles and leans in for a kiss. John watches the soft display, feeling not only like he’s intruding on something, but feeling something… else. He stiffens, grip tightening around the wrench in his hand as he realizes what it is he feels. Wistful, longing, perhaps a tinge of _envy_ as Nick leans down into Kim.

The issue is that John doesn’t know who he feels it _for_. For Kim? For Nick? For _both?_ Fuck, both. _Both_.

 _They’re married,_ he thinks to himself over and over again, as if to ward of the warmth he feels when he looks at them. _They’re married, they’re happy, they don’t want you. They’re married, they’re married, they’re married._ Not one meaningful friendship inevitably tarnished, but two. Ruined.

 

-

 

John watches birds in the sky—there are three of them, soaring in high circles around each other. It’s repetitive, mesmerizing to see them glide as silhouettes against the pinkening evening sky. He hears someone scuttle up behind him on the balcony of the ranch. A rustle of fabric, the sound of barefeet padding on cold tile, a smaller presence instead of a taller, towering one—all telltale signs of his sister that John doesn’t need to turn around to check.

He frowns slightly, two of the birds have flown higher, disappearing into specks as the odd one out beats its wings after them. Then there’s a purr of an engine, a sputter, somewhere in the distance, too far to see but John can guess who it is.

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with those _Ryes_ , lately,” Faith teases, coming to lean against the railing beside him. Her voice goes honeyed on _Ryes_ as if she thinks something is amusing.

It’s been a year and The Project’s managed to keep the same Faith. Rachel Jessop— _Faith_ —has been setting all kinds of records compared to their past Faiths, and one of them is becoming a Faith that John truly cares for as his genuine little sister.

It made sense that they’ve bonded so much, coming from similar pasts, understanding each other. Faith knows him well, and he knows her own tells in exchange.

“So?” John shrugs innocently, eyes sharpening when he spots _Carmina_ approaching its respective airstrip, gearing to land.

“ _So_ , is there something going on?” She prods, keeping the honeyed tone. She watches John’s eyes follow the descent of the distant yellow plane and gasps, her tone shifting into something mocking and scandalous. “Should dear old _Nicholas_ be worrying about the time you spend there? I’ve seen the way Kim makes you smile, Brother.”

His hands tighten on the rail, the sins on the back of his hand going taut. Sometimes, Faith might know him _too_ well.

She leans over the rail so they can better see each other’s faces, so he can see her mischievous grin. “Should _Kim_ be worrying instead, I wonder?”

Neither of the Ryes have to worry—really, they don’t. John cares about them too much to do anything, to _ruin_ anything. Ever since the damning revelation of his misplaced emotions rose out of the waters, John’s been doing his best to shove them back down, to drown them so he can finally breathe again.

He hasn’t told them. He’ll _never_ tell them. This is something he needs to keep to himself, a weed he needs to tend to on his own. His damn feelings are persistent, though, every time he thinks he’s eradicated it, the weeds of Kim’s little smiles and Nick’s casual touches just grow back in full force.

John knows nothing can come of it, yet he continues to seek their company anyway. He’s suffocating, but he doesn’t want to stay away.

He might even _love_ Nick and Kim, and that aches in his chest. God help him.

“John.” Faith’s hand brushes his arm, over the heart-shaped flames that speckle his wrist. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet for a while now.”

He turns his head minutely, to face his sister’s concerned gaze, all pretenses of teasing gone from her face, and there’s suddenly rawness that John can’t stop himself from feeling, stinging in his eyes.

“Is it—” he whispers, voice catching, “is it possible to feel the same way for two people? To _want_ two people, together?”

He does not say love. He _will not_ say love.

Faith doesn’t say anything back to him, but her eyes shimmer, concern growing deeper. She merely wraps her arms around his torso and hugs him tight.

 

-

 

John tries to move on. Truly, he gives it all he’s got, not that dating has ever been something difficult for him.

Before he reunited with his brothers, before the Project, it had always been easy for him. A lingering look with a handsome man under the flashing neon of a club, buying a drink for a beautiful woman at a bar, and next thing you know they’re back at that stranger’s place, behind the bar, at the back of a car, in a hotel room, back at John’s place—but it had always been easy, and sometimes he would even bother to learn their name. Long-term dating was something he only did here and there, at a time where long-term meant maybe just two months at a time to John.

But with Nick and Kim—he doesn’t just _want_ them, no, it’s already well established in his head that he wants _long_ -term. He can’t have it that way, though. He can’t have it at all. Even if he did go for it, he knows the Ryes don’t look at him that way, don’t think of him that way. John’s familiar, been on the receiving end of looks like that from past partners before, and it’s most definitely _not_ the way Nick and Kim are interested in him. It’s only in John’s dreams that they look at him the way they look at each other.

With how much the Flock has expanded as well, John pretty much has a whole line of people coveting his attention. The Project doesn’t officially permit people to act on carnal desires, but some of the people who promise so lie through their teeth. John’s heard it time and time again during his confessions.

He meets a woman. Holly. She’s pretty enough, nice enough, and John really thought he could move on with her. He really fucking thought. Holly doesn’t deserve this, John _knows_ he’s stringing her along, trying to get rid of something that won’t go away— _can’t_ go away—but he doesn’t stop.

Four months with Holly fly by. He never introduces her to Nick and Kim. His family has only met her a handful of times. Their time spent is mostly in secret, and though it’s obvious that Holly wants this to be more— _thinks_ it’s already more—he doesn’t tell her otherwise, not when she’s currently his only outlet of trying to fuck his feelings for Nick and Kim out of his head.

It’s only when Faith tells him to cut Holly loose, that she’s devoted to the Project and deserves better than the way John is treating her, that John realizes he should end it. He doesn’t right away, fearing what would happen to him with one of his distractions gone, but then Faith ropes _Jacob_ into it, and Jacob sternly tells John that if he continues this, Faith is likely to tell Joseph next.

And John can never stand to disappoint Joseph.

He dumps Holly the next day, watches her heart shatter and feels absolutely nothing.

Kim asks him about it a few days later, a playful nudge of her elbow. “What ever happened to that girl you were seeing? Holly, right?”

John just shakes his head and smiles sadly, his facade of pleasantry always like a second skin. “We broke up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, John,” she says, sadness crossing her face. Sadness for him and a woman she never met.

Kim closes in for a sympathetic hug, and John savors every second of it.

 

-

 

A handful of years and pass, years of unsteady lovers and pining for friends that will never love him back. John settles into the couch in one of the _Rye & Sons_ hangars and smiles. He smiles because Nick and Kim are smiling at him. What is John Seed, after all, without his chameleon mask?

Music is blasting from the radio, alt-rock that isn’t really John’s taste but he likes it because Nick likes it.

“What’s got you two so energetic?” John asks, watching their grins grow and grow. He had planned to drop by later in the day, but Nick called him that morning and urged him to _come over right away_.

Nick loops his arm around Kim’s waist, pulling her close. “D’you wanna say it, Kim? Or should I? Or should we both—”

“We’re pregnant!” Kim exclaims, followed by an excited squeal.

John freezes.

“That’s the news!” Nick whoops, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m gonna have a son!”

“Or a daughter!” Kim adds.

“Yeah,” Nick laughs. “Sure, or a daughter. I just—John, can you believe it? I’m gonna be a dad! I’m gonna have a son!”

Kim grabs John’s hand and yanks him up from the couch with surprising strength, pulling him in for a hug. Nick throws himself in too, and John’s caught between the two people he loves. After a moment, remembering himself, he moves and wraps his arms around both of them, hugging back. Taking in their combined scents.

“Congratulations,” he says softly, happily. Then louder, pulling away. “I’m so happy for you both. You’re going to be great parents.”

“You’re the first person we’ve told,” Kim says, squeezing his arm. “You’re pretty much my best friend.”

“Mine too,” Nick agrees.

“Mine too,” John echoes, hoping his smile doesn’t strain too visibly. “You’ll be throwing a party, won’t you? To celebrate? This—this is a beautiful thing, and I’m so, so happy for you.”

“‘Course we are! Tonight, maybe tomorrow? God, it’s so hard to not just call up everyone we know and tell ‘em.” Nick grins. Kim smiles wide, blinding.

John smiles back at the both of them. He’s happy for them, he truly is, but something in him has shattered. “That’s good. Good. I… I should go. To the church. People are expecting me.”

He leaves the hangar briskly, driving far far away from Nick and Kim and _baby_.

John spends all day in a pond with their new initiates, baptism after baptism. Something about today is… _different_ , he notes as drops of water fleck onto his face when he dunks an eager and able body under. Not just different because of John’s desperate attempts to stifle his own storm of emotions, but something _tangibly_ different. It’s then that he notices a faint shimmer to the pond’s surface, he notices the water’s blue is slightly deeper.

“What’s in the water?” he asks hoarsely, gently raising the latest initiate out from under.

Faith is by the pond’s edge. He doesn’t know when she got here, if she was here the whole time.

“It’s _Bliss_ ,” she hums, hands clasped dutifully behind her back, toes digging into the soil.

 _Bliss_. John’s heard it before, mentioned by Faith and Joseph some time ago. A sort of formula Faith had approached The Father with, something hedonistic in nature. He never thought it would be like this, in the water, in the air, _in his head_. It’s a high that’s familiar and different at the same time.

And he knows, he _knows_ that he’s had too much of it, because that good feeling twists something inside him. He’s been standing in the pond all day, in the Bliss _all day_ , and suddenly he’s thinking of Nick and Kim all over again. Not that he ever properly stopped—but it’s impossible to keep down now, the ache he feels when he thinks about the news he heard today.

“It’s strong,” John breathes, his voice sounding distant.

Faith shrugs, purses her lips. “It’s still in its early stages of development. Your men should have told you before you stepped into the pond.”

They did, at least he assumes they did. When John arrived from the Ryes… he hadn’t really been paying attention, there was a static thrumming in his ears, a flurry of his own thoughts.

_They don’t want you. They’ve never wanted you. And now they’re going to leave you. Their baby is all they’ll care about, and they’ll slowly forget about you._

“Maybe… maybe you should end baptisms for the day, step away from the Bliss,” Faith says. “It’s getting dark anyway.”

“I can’t—” John falters, blinking hard. Pond water sloshes around his knees. _I can’t stop. I need to distract myself._ “Yes, that sounds like a good idea. I’ll… I’ll hear confessions for the rest of the evening.”

It’s a short drive to his bunker, and in that time the Bliss doesn’t wear off. It sticks to him, his clothes, his skin, it’s all he can breathe. He shouldn’t be driving, he thinks, but he makes it to his bunker with no problem.

The bunker is a work in progress, nearly complete, but his private confession room has been ready from the start. He strides down the metal halls, passing lines of initiates who look at him with high hopes.

“You,” John rasps, pointing at a man who looks _painfully_ like Nick. “Are you ready to confess?”

His eyes are the wrong color, it’s the only detail that separates this man from _his_ Nick in John’s Bliss-heavy mind. Not-Nick squares his shoulders and nods eagerly. “Yes.”

 _“Yes,”_ John agrees, blood thundering in his ears.

He drags the man into the red-lit confession room, securing the door behind him. Not-Nick collapses onto the chair, staring at John with a reverence, and the words just come pouring out.

John listens, it’s what he does. He listens and listens and soon it clicks, John sees a clarity shimmering through the Bliss. All he hears is that this man, this _shadow_ of a man he loves, just wants more and more. Insatiable, he can’t leave anything alone, can’t let anything be. A tinge of hubris, perhaps, but no, it’s not pride in his words. It’s all more, more, more. It’s greed— _Greed._

John can see it now, he wants to paint the walls with the word— _avaritia_ —wants to etch it onto Nick’s body. _No,_ a small voice in his head seems to hiss, _this is not him._ It’s not Nick, but the sin remains true.

“What is your name?” John asks, prowling closer. He can see it now, _this_ is what the Project needs, _this_ is how he’s going to save people.

“Sebastian,” is the reply.

“ _Sebastian._ I know what your sin is,” John leans down, leans closer, till he’s hovering over the man in the chair. “Your sin is _Greed_. Now, I can save you from this sin, but to earn salvation you must first bear your sin, you must bear it to the world.”

It’s so clear now. He’s always been obsessed with sin, anyone can tell just by looking at the words on his left hand. He’s _always_ been obsessed, but he’s never felt this before, a need to make a sin known to the whole world, to flaunt it on someone else’s skin the way he does on his own. _This_ is why the world has given him this infatuation. It all comes down to the next crucial moments. His past, the heartache, the _Bliss_ —it’s made John _see_.

“How?” Sebastian asks, a quiver in his voice. Despite the quiver, his voice is still steadier, higher than Nick’s. _Don’t think of Nick._ _Don’t think of Kim_.

John smiles, unblinking. “I’ll carve it into your flesh, for all the world to see. We are _made_ of sin, our sins weigh like stones in our very souls. Like _marble_ , and I’ll be the sculptor who uncovers it within you.”

Sebastian’s eyes go wide. “C-carve it?”

John grabs the collar of his shirt and tears the cheap material open at the chest. “Here, right here. It’s what God will have me do.”

He wishes he could use ink, there’s more care and artistry to tattooing it. Unfortunately, his tattoo gun is at the ranch, and here he only has a switchblade.

He can make do with the tools he has.

Before Greedy, quivering Sebastian can protest further, John brings the blade into the light, briefly admiring its shine, then brings it down and drags it deep across bare skin. Sebastian screams, it first tumbles out of his lips in an agonized whimper, and then when John moves onto the _R_ it turns into raw howling.

John is done in moments. He leans back to admire his work, inhaling the iron scent of blood, the air warm and heavy with it. Particles of Bliss twinkling around the weeping wound of _GREED_ , red rolling down the rest of the exposed skin of Sebastian’s heaving, blood-smeared chest and staining into the torn fabric of his shirt.

The poor man’s still whimpering, crying, and John rests a bloody hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly and shushing him. Soothing him. Despite the pain John has caused, there’s still awe in Sebastian’s eyes, fear, _yes_ , but a fierce reverence remains. How he wishes Nick could one day look at him like _that_.

“Th-thank you, thank you Brother J-John…”

John tilts his head, eyeing him curiously, his smile ever-present. “Do you think it’s over? Oh, you did, didn’t you? There’s still one last step. One last step that will _heal_ the corruption of _Greed_ in your soul.”

“Wha—th-there is? Another step?”

“Tell me, _Sebastian_ …” John circles the tip of the blade around the sin, trailing pink lines across skin. “Will you atone for your sin? Will you devote yourself completely to The Father? Just say _yes_.”

He looks so, so much like Nick. “Yes. Yes! I w-will atone.”

“Perfect,” John whispers, and drives the knife deep into skin. “I’ll _relieve_ you of your _Greed_.”

The screaming starts again, and John can’t help but find solace in the sound.

 

-

 

When John gets back to the ranch, blood dry on his hands, still seeing floating stars of Bliss in the air around him, Joseph is waiting for him outside.

“I heard what you did today.”

John stops in front of Joseph on the front porch, eyes cast down, awaiting judgment and consequence. His hands suddenly feel restless.

Joseph takes his silence as a reply of its own, humming curiously. “Why did you do it, John?”

“I thought it was the right thing to do,” John answers, not meeting Joseph’s owlish gaze. “The process was… enlightening. Bearing one’s sins in blood and cutting it away— _atoning_. It felt important.”

“Yes. Yes, I do like the idea, it could help the Flock, make their loyalty—their faith—stronger. But John, Brother, why did _you_ do it? There’s something else, is there not?”

“I can’t—I can’t say it,” John says hoarsely, fists balling up as he thinks about Nick and Kim all over again. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t make me say what it is, Joseph, please.”

“It must be important enough for you to flay a man.”

_“Please.”_

“John,” Joseph’s soft tone grows stern, and a slender hand grips his shoulder. “Look at me. _Look._ ”

John does as he’s told, tilting up slightly to meet his brother’s eyes. His blood burns. “I did the confession for the wrong reasons, maybe, I _know_ , Joseph. But—but it works, it _helped_ , not only me but the initiate as well. Through his pain he saw clarity, he saw God—”

The hand tightens on his shoulder. “You’re eyes. You’ve been exposed to Faith’s project, haven’t you? _The Bliss._ ”

John breathes deeply, in and out, uncurling his fists and running his fingertips over the crescents he’s dug into his palms. “It’s… strong.”

“Perhaps too strong.” Joseph lets go of John. “It’s still in early stages, and it seems like you’ve been exposed to too much. How long has it been since you were exposed?”

“Hours,” John answers, swaying slightly as he takes a step back.

Joseph considers his answer for a moment, his expression ever enigmatic. Then, as if he’s had an entire conversation in his head, he blinks slowly and speaks again. “I’ll let you go. Clean yourself up, sleep off the Bliss. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

Joseph leans in to press their foreheads together, then steers John towards the door. John only nods in return, and enters the ranch.

“And John?” Joseph calls before John’s closed the door. John looks back, hand tightening around the doorknob. His brother only blinks back, unreadable as he speaks slowly. “There’s a hatred in your eyes, Brother. Whoever it is you’re feeling this for—you must learn to love them.”

“Yes, Joseph.”

 _The Father_ always knows what’s best.

Back in his bedroom, he watches himself in the mirror—hair smoothed back but out of place from the many baptisms he held today, flecks of dried blood on his face from the confession he held, arms coated in red almost all the way to the elbow, thinly veiling the tattoos he adorns. He’s even got blood on his vest, which doesn’t really bother him that much.

The Bliss high is finally wearing off. He can feel the aftermath of it weigh down his bones. He can feel the emotions coming back properly, in full force, no longer felt through a shimmering veil of Faith’s creation. He digs his phone out of his pocket, feeling it vibrate. A text from Nick.

_small party at our place friday - gonna tell everyone abt the baby_

The reality of it feels like a punch in the gut. _You have to love them_ , Joseph had said. That’s his fucking _problem_. He loves Nick and Kim more than they’ll ever know, and he knows he’ll love their baby, he _knows_ he will.

He’ll love them, but he’ll have to keep his distance. He’s been stalling this too much, spending _months_ by their side when he knows it just makes things worse for him.

John tosses his phone somewhere behind him, hearing it land softly on his bed. He’s not going to stop loving them, it’s impossible at this point, but he can at least try to stop _caring._ In a frenzy, a sudden spike of adrenaline from this new resolution, he hastily unbuttons his vest and drops it onto the floor. His shirt follows soon after, a low snarl of frustration escaping him when his hands fumble on the last two buttons before he rips it open, those two buttons flying off onto the floor.

He carved the sin out of someone today, and now he’s going to do the same to himself. He’ll _embrace_ it. He’ll feel this, feel the wonderful pain of it. If he plans to shut his emotions out, distance himself from the Ryes and devote more time to the project, he wants to _feel_ something before his world turns numb.

John’s reflection haunts him in the mirror. He glances down at the myriad of tattoos scattered around his torso and focuses on the small space of un-inked skin on his chest, beneath his collarbones. He glances at his tattoo gun on the table across the room, then tears his eyes away from it. _No_. He needs to—he needs to cut deep, needs to bear the sin as scar tissue.

He flicks out his switchblade, clean and sterilized from its last encounter with flesh. _Sloth. Yes, Sloth._ That’s what he’s always been, hasn’t he? Cruising through life addicted to drugs and sex and lies, without a care for anyone except himself. But now he’ll embrace it. This is what he needs.

The knife stings, pain flashing behind John’s eyes as he hisses. He can taste the blood in the air, thick red drops of it rolling down his chest as he shapes the _S_ , then the _L_ , and soon his chest is a bloody, elegant tapestry of Sin.

Days later, at the dinner for the pregnancy announcement, Kim pulls him aside. Eyes soft and full of concern while Nick entertains their ( _Nick and Kim, not John, John excluded_ ) friends from Fall’s End in the living room. _SLOTH_ bleeds at John’s chest from too much movement, staining five little drops through his shirt. _There’s blood on your shirt, John. Are you okay?_ Kim asks quietly. _What happened? Show me._

And who is John to deny Kim Rye? Hopeless as he is, he unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt, blood-soaked gauze peeking out. Kim doesn’t ask, and John is grateful, but before he closes his shirt up again she reaches up and gently brushes her hand over the edge of the gauze, over the bare skin of his chest. The touch has him recoiling with a shiver. _It’s fine,_ he mutters as he walks away, _it’s nothing._

 

-

 

With Nick and Kim happily pregnant, John embraces the neglect by turning to his new vices. The Project at Eden’s Gate isn’t necessarily a vice—it’s a duty, a destiny—but the sins he tattoos and cuts away from initiates is something he’s become infatuated with.

A couple months fly by and the Project’s numbers are skyrocketing. More and more and more. He’s started to hear whispers, louder than the ones before—the people of Hope County are growing unsettled by their presence. It doesn’t stop the initiates flooding in. Some are reluctant at first, some practically _unwilling_ , but John is a Baptist, and Faith has perfected the Bliss. One dunk into their water, one go at the _cleanse,_ and they belong to The Father.

And those who belong to The Father are John’s to guide to atonement. He comes home to the ranch almost every day smelling like Bliss and blood. He doesn’t mind it.

It’s lonelier nowadays at the ranch. Faith has moved into her bunker in the Henbane where she can keep close control of the Bliss. Jacob has receded into the mountains, not seen or heard from for days at a time, but the Veterans Center is taking in a good number of recruits for the Project’s security, and John knows things are going according to plan when he sometimes hears _Only You_ echoing from the Whitetail Region.

Most days at the ranch it’s just John and Joseph, but Joseph is moving to his island soon. The Family—capital _F_ , now—is spread thin across the county, but strong and growing stronger. _We will be ready for the Collapse._

John shows up at the Ryes’ front door one evening. He’s not expected, but he misses them. The distance that’s grown between him and them has been good—good for the Project, good for Nick and Kim to focus on the pregnancy, good for John to numb his heartache. He still loves them, always will, so it stings a bit when Nick doesn’t swing open the door and pull him in for a half-hug but instead cracks open the door warily.

“John,” Nick says, his smile falling flat. “Didn’t know you were coming by.”

“I thought I’d stop by and say hey,” John shrugs, smiling. “I can leave if this is a bad time—”

“No, nah, uh, come on in. You eat anything yet?”

“No.”

“Good, we’re just about to have dinner. Got enough for you to join us.”

Nick swings the door open wider, motioning for John to come in. It’s something they’ve done a million times—Nick or Kim sweeping the door open and John strolling in without a care—but this time there’s something awkward to it, something hesitant.

Kim is seated at the table when John sees her, already shoveling food into her mouth. Her eyes are surprised when she sees him, and she smiles after gulping down a chunk of food, but just like Nick, there’s a hesitance to her easy-going posture.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. It’s all wrong.

Dinner is tense. More a clicking of spoons and forks on plates rather than easy, mundane conversation that usually brings John so much joy. Just talking to them, being around them was always enough. But not now, not when he can tell something needs to be said, but he doesn’t know what it is. Nick and Kim are acting so strange.

Dinner wraps up quickly, and John starts helping Nick with the dishes. Kim starts to get out of her chair and John shakes his head. “You can stay seated, Kim. I’ll help with the dishes.”

“We got it, Kim,” Nick says, running a plate under the kitchen sink. “Take it easy.”

“I’m twelve weeks in,” Kim grumbles, slumping back in her seat. “I can still do things, y’know.”

John chuckles lightly at that, and they lapse into another uncomfortable silence as Nick passes him dishes to towel off. He sighs, stacking another plate on the drying rack. He can’t take it anymore.

“Is… is there something going on?” he asks quietly, glancing from Nick to Kim. “Both of you are acting strange.”

Kim casts her eyes down at the table top and chews at her lip. Nick sighs, the sound almost lost to the running water of the sink.

John’s stomach lurches. “You’re okay, right? Does it have something to do with the pregnancy? The baby—”

“The baby’s fine,” Kim assures, meeting his eyes from across the dining table. Her hand falls to rest idly on the small, small bump of her stomach. It’s fine then, but why is Kim still looking at him like _that?_

“Yeah,” Nick mumbles next to John, passing him a glass to wipe down. John takes it, and Nick shuts the water off. “It’s, uh, it’s something else, John. We need to talk.”

John goes still, hands tightening around the dish rag and glass. “About what?”

Kim rests her elbows on the table, lacing her fingers together. “We know, John.”

His head starts to spin, kicking into a panic. They _know_ what—that he—his feelings for them? He doesn’t know what he could say, but before words can stumble out of his mouth, Nick starts talking.

“We’ve heard rumors, been hearing them for, shit, _years_ , but we didn’t actually think it was true. You were our friend John, and we can’t just sit here any longer and pretend that your family doesn’t run a fucking _cult_.”

 _Oh._ “Nick, I—”

“You’re hurting people. We _know_ you’re hurting people.”

“Folks have been going missing the last month too,” Kim quietly adds, anger thrums in her voice, but her eyes are sad when she looks at him.

“You don’t understand,” John near hisses, heart stinging when Nick and Kim flinch back at his tone. “You don’t—we’re saving people. We’re _saving_ them. The world is on the brink—”

“Your family is hurting people, John,” Kim says flatly.

Nick steps away from the kitchen sink, away from John. “ _You’re_ hurting people. I saw some of your _cultists_ the other day, looked like they were high as fuck, saying crazy shit.” He raises both hands to make little air quotations. “He had ‘GLUTTONY’ tattooed on his chest, and he said he couldn’t wait for _you_ to tear it off him. Tear his skin—his _skin!_ —off of him. What the hell, right?”

“The shit we’ve been hearing, John…” Kim looks almost anguished. “The _horrors_. We just—I don’t think it’s great for you to be around us right now.” She presses her palm to her baby bump. “I—I don’t want that kind of stress near us.”

“Kim—please.” John is at a fucking loss. For once, he can’t think of what to say to make things better. They can’t do this to him, they _can’t._ His fingers squeak around the glass clutched in his death grip. “You— _both_ of you are important to me, more than you know. Our work—it might disturb you at first but it’s for everyone’s protection, everyone’s _salvation_. You both can have a place in the Project—”

Nick glares at him, and John feels himself growing more desperate by the second. “John, we don’t want—”

“You will _always_ have a place in the Project. In my bunker, when the world comes to an end. Please, _please_ understand.”

Kim sighs, eyes glimmering. “John, we can’t. Look, we love you, but we can’t.”

They love him, but it’s not in the way he wants.

“We need you to keep your distance,” Nick says, face stony.

“Nick, Kim—”

“ _No_ , John,” Nick interrupts, raising his voice. “You have to—”

John’s voice catches onto the growing volume of Nick’s, matching the tone until he’s nearly shouting. “Just _listen_ to me—”

“You _can’t_ be around us anymore—”

“I can save you! I can save you both!”

“We _don’t_ want to be around you, John, you’re dangerous—”

 _“Let me save you!”_ John bellows, the tremor in his voice followed by a shattering sound. Kim gasps and John feels something warm in his hand. The glass he’d been holding—it’s shattered in his grip, blood beading in his palm from where a shard pierced his skin.

“John…” Kim starts.

He doesn’t hear what she says next, his pulse thundering in his ears, he’s hurt, he’s fucking fuming. Nick starts saying something too but he can’t hear it, can’t process any of it. He mutters some low apology for the broken glass and sets the remnants of it on the kitchen counter, glass crunching under his shoes as he leaves the kitchen.

He has to go, he has to get out of here. He thinks he hears Kim calling after him, he doesn’t know why though, when the Ryes have clearly just _dropped_ him. After everything, they just fucking threw him away. He can’t fucking breathe, and when he finally finds himself in the silence of his car he feels like someone’s driven a spike into his chest.

The drive home is a blur, one moment he’s in his car and the next John is standing in front of his mirror again, blade to his chest with a trembling hand. He can’t shun this, can’t bury the anger, the envy, the _abandonment_. He’s distraught, he knows this, but he wants to _feel_ —he wants to care, he wants to hold the turmoil stirring in him, turn it into something else.

John bears _SLOTH_ on his skin, but it’s time he atones. He drags the knife across his sin—a deep, red line cutting right through it. _Yes_ , he will strike through his own sin, apathy no more, because his anger is here. _Yes._

 

-

 

Months pass, the Ryes have stopped talking to John completely. They ignore his calls, his texts, and he doesn’t see them at all. Tensions have ramped up within the county, talk of _the people vs. the cult_ all around. There are people leaving, fleeing the county. There are people arming themselves, and when he tells Jacob, his brother only flashes a grim smile.

The tension _will_ snap, it has to at some point. And John knows that when shit eventually hits the fan, it could be even more difficult to seek out Nick and Kim. He can’t—he can’t just keep going on knowing he can’t see them. He has to _do_ something about it.

John isn’t proud of it, but he steals from them. He has his men march up to their home and ransack their in-progress nursery, stealing everything that would be useful for the pregnancy, for the baby. He has it taken to the ranch, that way they’ll _have_ to come see him, one of them has to come and collect.

They don’t. They _don’t_. It fucking hurts that they’d rather live without essentials for their unborn child than just _talk_ to him.

He keeps pushing. He starts going public, starting shit he knows they would hate him for but it would at least encourage them to confront him. At this point, John would be comforted to just hear one of their voices on the phone.

 _GREED_ is what he marks them with, they want and want but don’t want _him_. He’s spiraling, Faith has even mentioned it to him the few times he’s seen her, but he can’t fucking help it. They just keep _ignoring_ him. He’s even started rumors, rumors he knows would infuriate them—he tells people that the baby is actually his, that infidelity tears at the Rye household.

And he gets nothing, not a single first-hand reaction, the only thing he hears is that his men have heard talk about how Nick Rye has stepped up within the county’s so-called _Resistance_. His men report that he’s enraged by the ‘wrong’ the Project has done to the county, that he hates John, that both he _and_ Kim hate him.

He doesn’t care about that, not anymore. He knows how far gone this is, that their past memories together have been soured by his actions, that their friendship is in the dust. But he just wants to _see_ them.

He has more of his men break into the _Rye & Sons_ hangar. If they don’t care for the baby needs, Nick _has_ to go mad over the theft of dear _Carmina_.

 

-

 

The fucking Deputy steals Nick’s plane from his ranch. Steals his fucking _ranch_.

John hadn’t really thought anything of them when he saw them the night of the Reaping. They seemed new, uncertain, yet here they are, the fucking physical embodiment of defiance.

He kidnaps them the same day they steal the plane he’d been oh so invested in fixing up for Nick. He had thought that if maybe, _maybe_ Nick showed up to get his plane back, he would be impressed with how John had finally fixed that left wing. Now John will never know.

Looking at the Deputy now, watching them blink water out of their eyes as one of his Faithful pull them up from the bliss-infused pool, he feels his temper spike.

“This one’s not clean,” he says darkly, the twisted smirk he wears more often than not now twitching at the corners. He wants to hold the Deputy down in the water until they start to struggle for air—he wants to see _fear_ on their face, he wants to see them regret their defiance. They’re going to regret taking Nick’s plane back from him, taking this chance to see Nick from him.

But he can’t make them do anything at that moment, not when Joseph appears, making him bow his head like a child caught doing something they shouldn’t. That’s what he’ll always be to Joseph, isn’t it? A child—even when they only reunited as adults.

“This one shall reach atonement,” Joseph says after a righteous scolding. “Or the Gates of Eden shall be shut to you, John.”

He has to _love_ them, apparently. There’s no room left for this _Deputy_ in his ruined heart.

 

-

 

The Deputy destroys his silos, his supply vehicles, his _YES_ sign.

What’s worse is that he hears that the Deputy’s grown close with the Ryes, that the people he can’t help but still love actually _care_ about the person in the county who’s been a continuous thorn in his side.

When his men finally manage to capture them again, they drag the Deputy to his bunker. He straps them down his confession room and looks at them, _really_ looks at them. He wants to know what’s got Hope County so obsessed with this junior deputy.

He thinks maybe, _maybe_ , in another world, another life, he might have been able to love them. Easily, too. They’re attractive, and they’ve got spirit, but all John sees when he looks at the Deputy is his _replacement._

He’s talking down to them before he even realizes it. “What’s gotten Nick and Kim to care about you so much, I wonder?”

The Deputy struggles in the straps of the chair. “What, you care about what they think or something?”

“They didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Now that fucking _stings_. “We were friends once, not too long ago.”

“Bullshit,” they scoff. “You’re a fucking psychopath. Like they’d ever let you anywhere near them, let alone their daughter.”

It’s as if the Deputy sprung free from the chair and punched the air out of John. “Their… their _daughter?”_

That slip of his easy gait, the fracture in his sneer, has the Deputy smirking. “What, you didn’t hear? Their little girl was born just last week. I drove ‘em to the clinic myself. I’m her _godparent_.”

Fuck, _fuck_ , he wishes he could have been there. He wishes he could hold their child, he would have loved her so much, would have spoiled her. He was the first person they told about the pregnancy—it should have been him. It should have been _him_.

Godparent is yet another thing the Deputy has stolen from him, then.

The Deputy flinches back when John snarls and kicks the table over, tools spilling across the floor with a crash.

 

-

 

Nick is there when he tattoos _WRATH_ across the Deputy’s chest. This is the Deputy’s last chance to atone, John’s patience for them flew out the window weeks ago.

He knows he should be focusing on the Deputy’s atonement, on this act of salvation in Pastor Jerome’s church, but he’s still reeling because _Nick_ is here. _GREED_ is inked on his chest, by John’s hand himself. Nick hates him, he had cursed at him, kicked and thrashed as John drew the letters, but all John could care about was that after _months_ he’s finally seen Nick again. Nick’s even spoken to him, despite it being curses and threats.

He only wishes Kim was here too, aches to see her, to see Nick and Kim _together_ with him again.

Nick screams, eyes full of hurt and betrayal when John cuts the skin off his chest for his atonement. John is alight, his skin fucking crackling just to be around Nick again, to be touching him, even.

And then it all goes to shit when the Deputy and Pastor Jerome pull some stunt and try to shoot him.

He takes to the sky, heart racing when he not only hears the sound of one plane behind him but _two_. Nick is all _Wrath_ when he aids the Deputy in taking him down. He calls John a ‘ _goddamn demon,_ ’ telling him he’d be glad to kill him.

John only wishes things could have been different. It’s not only a matter of love—he misses his friends, and his heart twists at the fact that they’ve become so eager to see him a cold, pale corpse.

“I’m sorry for the hurt I caused you, Nick,” John rasps into his radio when he’s parachuted down from his plane. He’s not really sorry, they both know this, but he’s at the end of his life and he just wants to _talk_ to Nick. “Tell Kim I’m sorry too.”

There’s a rustle in the trees behind him, and he knows that the Deputy’s caught up with him. He had failed their atonement anyway—there’s no place in Eden for him, there’s no place for him anywhere, now.

The Deputy takes aim at him.

John closes his eyes, thinking of better days and old friends.

**Author's Note:**

> you ever just... throw down 11k words on sad john seed
> 
> also yes i know I took A LOT of libterties with the lore and story behind John's sloth scar/tattoo, I just wanted to make myself more sad


End file.
